The Menagerie
by NancyBG-OldMaidWhovian
Summary: A story which I wrote in autumn of 2007, and am re-publishing here with some minor re-editing. A companionless Doctor takes a wee holiday, only to find that the main attraction is himself.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was a narrow brick-walled alley, just like a million other alleys in a billion other cities in the universe. Bits of paper lay scattered about, with odd pieces of discarded rubbish here and there and faded graffiti on the two opposing walls. It was just a quiet deserted space that seldom saw the light of the sun, sandwiched between two small shops on a quaint city street. Essentially, it was nothing special. It wasn't even used much, anymore.

Out of nowhere, the wind kicked up the papers and sent them twirling, transforming them into miniature tornados. A wheezing and groaning noise rent the air, and a blue police box materialized, fitting nicely between the two walls. The door opened and a man in a blue suit and maroon tie stood gazing about him. Overhead, twin suns shone distantly in a powder blue sky. On the street, humanoid beings with violet skin and sapphire blue hair, dressed in a variety of coloured togas, were bustling about on their daily business.

The Doctor's new friend, Martha, had gone off to visit a sick friend in Kent and the Doctor decided to take himself on a little holiday to the New New Club Med on the planet Sdnanem–which the locals called "Snod" for short.

After spending the early part of the day on the beach, he'd decided to visit the small but charming city of Ynabla. Slipping on a pair of sunglasses, the Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets, strolling along with the crowd. He made an afternoon of it, larking about and gazing in each of the shop windows.

In one window was a golden mechanical animal the size of a small dog, which looked like a cross between a giraffe and a Drashig.

In another shop display, a live model was busy showing off a neon orange toga and a pair of purple platform shoes to passersby. She gave the Doctor a beguiling smile. Slipping his glasses up on his forehead, the Doctor grinned. She blew him a kiss.

"Hello!" The Doctor called to her, giving her a cheerful wave. Noticing him, the gave him her sexiest smile and began removing her toga.

"Oops!" He blushed, "Sorry! Places to go, things to…er…see." Sliding his sunglasses back on, the Doctor decided to check out the shops across the street. "Blimey! They do take their friendliness rather seriously here." He muttered to himself.

Strolling along, he passed what appeared to be a pet shop. There was a man in the window, brushing a long-haired animal that seemed to be some sort of cat. The man looked up at the Doctor and gave a start. The Doctor merely frowned at the cat-creature, waved casually at the man, and strolled on.

The next window boasted a 3-D game. It seemed to be a cross between chess and an old fashioned sword fight. The Doctor wanted to surprise Martha with a little gift, when she got back, but was unsure of what his new human companion would like. Occupied by this thought, the Doctor didn't notice the man from the pet shop following him.

Just then, he spied a little shop around the corner that looked interesting. The store windows were small round panes of glass, and each pane held a different trinket. The gifts ranged from a comic statue of a fat man on a toilet, to spun glass swan-like creatures, to miniature dragons that moved their wings and roared, to souvenir beverage beakers.

What caught the Doctor's eye though, was an elaborately enameled box. It could almost have come out of Earth's Tsarist Russia, but for the holographic ballerina on the lid. Opening the door, he entered the shop.

The man who'd been shadowing the Doctor, a thin male in a somewhat soiled gold toga, reached into the pouch cinched to his waist and pulled out a communication device.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The musical chime on the door trilled, as the Doctor entered the shop. A hefty female in a crisp, flowing indigo and teal toga approached him. She was smiling pleasantly. The woman had an air of grace and dignity about her.

"Good afternoon sir. How may I assist you today?"

The Doctor returned her smile warily, remembering the model in the window.

"Ummm–Forgive the odd question, but you're not going remove any bits of clothing, are you?"

The woman laughed lightly. "Heavens no, sir, this is a gift shop. Toga stores are the only place where a member of sales staff may remove one's garments."

Beaming at her, the Doctor said, "Well, that's a relief. Erm-not that you wouldn't look...what I mean is...oh never mind. Tell me, do have any more of those little enameled boxes that I saw in your shop window?"

"Why Yes! We do." she replied. Gesturing to the Doctor to follow her, she lead the way to a rear display counter. "If would you care to follow me, sir? I'll show you what we have left in stock."

The doctor strolled past the merchandise: '_I love Snod'_ key chains, something that looked suspiciously like fake vomit, stuffed dragons and glow-in-the-dark Daleks, racks of holocards showing scenes of the city, bird tables resembling Greek temples, gaudy cheap jewelry and children's garments printed with slogans such as, '_My parents went to Snod and all I got was this lousy tunic_.'

The saleswoman walked behind a low display case. She removed two boxes from the display and placed them on the glass counter top.

"May I say, you have a good eye, sir. These are simply exquisite, are they not? Made entirely by hand by the elves of Chironus. They're my favourite item in the entire shop."

The Doctor stepped back and looked them over. Each one was richly enameled. The first box she placed on the counter came in shades of black, crimson and orange. She gently taped the lid with her fingertip. In an instant, a hologram of a Monarch butterfly appeared on the lid. Its wings lazily opened and closed. The Doctor reached out and touched other box . It was emerald green, gold and midnight blue. As soon as he touched the lid, a white stallion with wings appeared, rearing its majestic head.

"They're both Earth creatures, sir. That one there is called a Pegasus." The woman smiled at him, indicating the box the Doctor was fingering. "You're very lucky. The boxes tend to sell out as soon as we get them in. These are the last two we have. Other than the display model in the window, of course." She said.

Carefully, the Doctor picked up the one with the butterfly and looked it over. "This one, I think. Can you gift wrap it for me, please?"

The sales clerk nodded her approval.

"It would be my pleasure, sir. Will that be cash or credit?"

He handed her a small round credit disc, hoping it was for the correct planet. "Is this alright?"

She nodded, taking the disc from him. "That will do fine, sir. If you don't mind waiting, I shall just pop in the back and wrap this up for you. It won't take but a moment."

The clerk bustled away through a beaded doorway in the rear of the shop.

The Doctor watched her go, not noticing the tall dark young man, inching his way behind him. He wore a nondescript gray toga and had long, lanky hair. The man reached into the pouch behind his waist and pulled out a hypo-needle.

Sensing the movement, the Doctor turned, smiling. The man jabbed the doctor in the leg with the hypo. The Doctor was quite indignant about that.

"Oww-! That hurt!" Realizing that something was amiss, he stared at the man, "Hang on, what'd you do that for?"

Immediately after saying this, the Doctor passed out cold into the man's arms.

Moments later the salesgirl returned with the Doctor's package, saying, "Here you are, sir. Thank you for your custom…"

She started in surprise. The woman looked all over the shop, even out on the street. But it was to no avail. Her customer had disappeared without a trace!


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor awoke in near total darkness. The only light seemed to come from the bottom of a door far down a long hallway. Slowly a hand fumbled for his chest. Felt over one heart, then the other.

"Well…both beating," he whispered to himself, "so I guess I'm not dead."

He felt his pockets for his sonic screwdriver, but his pockets were empty–in fact, he didn't have pockets. A tactile inspection of his clothing confirmed that he seemed to be wearing something very much like a set of pyjamas.

"Oh not again!" He moaned. The Doctor made a quick check of his new wardrobe

"What? Not even a Satsuma? How disappointing. Well…at least I'm not naked. Not like that time on Metabelis Three. Then again…I should have known better than to go to a cocktail party with triplets from Quixotica. "

Slowly sitting upright, the Doctor wobbled a bit. Seized by a sudden attack of vertigo, he felt as if the room were spinning around him. He licked the roof of his mouth. It tasted strangely like a cross between pickled onions and a licorice _All-Sorts_. He made a face, sticking out his tongue.

"Ah, yes. I recognize that unpleasant aftertaste." He whinged to the empty air. "Only one thing in the universe can leave a taste like _that._ Albermein." He frowned deeply, his eyes creasing with puzzlement.

Thankfully for him and his Time Lord constitution, the aftereffects of the drug wore off quickly.

Pacing up and down now, he muttered, "But that was banned by the Shadow Proclamation, centuries ago. What's someone on Snod– assuming I'm still on the same planet–what's someone here doing with a banned tranquilizer?"

Just then, a large, ornate door at the end of the hall creaked open. The overhead lights clicked on. The room was flooded with a blazing white radience. Added to the glare, were several small spotlights, which were pointing directly at the front of the box. Raising his hands to his eyes, the Doctor backed up against the wall. He saw that he was in what amounted to a large box. His prison was tall enough for him to stand and walk around a bit–in fact, it even came funished. The interior had the appearence to an early 21st century Earth council flat. Except, that three of the four walls were totally transparent.

Looking around the space outside his box, the Doctor tried to make out a figure that was walking towards him. It appeared to be humanoid. That's when he heard something move in the compartment on the other side of him. He turned and looked. The Doctor's eyes boggled, his mouth opened but no speech came out. He suddenly felt the trace of an icy finger of terror, walking down his spine.

That's because, staring back at him, on the other side of the glass, was the glowing blue eye stalk of a Dalek.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The Doctor backed away, the sweat of pure fear beading his brow. Dimly, through the glass, he heard the familiar word;"_EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!_"

The creature raised its gun and…nothing. Nothing happened at all. The Dalek only rocked back and forth, trying in vain to get to the Doctor. The enclosed space vibrated with clunks, as the Dalek repeatedly banged its gun against the Perspex. It took but a moment for the Doctor to realize that the Dalek was unarmed. Immediately calm again, he heaved a sigh of relief.

Stalking up to the Perspex which separated the two of them, the Doctor leaned inward. Lightly pressing his fingertips against the wall, he literally went eyes to eyestalk with his most frightening enemy.

Imitating a line from an American film, The Doctor growled, "Go ahead, Dalek. Make my day." He then lifted his head and laughed mockingly. Skipping backwards a few paces, he actually teased the Dalek. "I'm in here-ere, and you can't touch me! Na-na-na-na-na-na!" Thumbing his nose at it, the Doctor's eyes grew dark, as he bit out an insult, "So you can stick that sucker arm right up your..."

"Oh, do grow up, Doctor." A haughty voice spoke from outside the box.

The Doctor spun round, surprised. He'd forgotten all about the humanoid he'd seen, moments earlier.

On the other side of the Perspex, stood an imposing, aristocratic looking man. He was draped in a spotless silver toga, with gold and purple embroidered trim. His neck was with hung with gold chains, He wore a silver studded purple leather belt, and gold rings graced the man's well-manicured fingers. His sapphire hair was oiled and slicked back. His Van Dyke style goatee was trimmed to a fine point. To complete the look, the short leather boots on the man's feet were decorated with amethyst gems, gold studs, and glittering diamonds.

"After all of the stories I've heard about you Doctor, I was hardly expecting this sort of behavior from a Time Lord. What with the legends, I thought you would be someone much more…" He sniffed and spoke down his nose at the Doctor, "…_dignified_."

The man's speech had an arrogant, superior quality about it. Which the Doctor took an instant dislike to. He stood with folded arms, and gave the man in the toga a swift, dismissive appraisal. Then, he deliberately turned his back on him.

"I don't suppose I could have my own clothes back?" The Doctor looked down at his utilitarian jim-jams. "Mauve really isn't my colour. That's the colour of a Chula distress beacon. People are going to take one look at me, and think I'm signaling for help...", He thought about that, tugging on his ear, "...Erm―then again..."

"Keep talking, Doctor. I've been suffering from insomnia, of late. I may have just found a cure." The man sneered.

Giving another deep sigh, the Doctor flopped down into an armchair, which was placed in front of a large screen television. He suddenly became fascinated by a loose thread in the arm of the chair. "Hmmm–shoddy workmanship, that."

Glancing to his left, he checked out the oversized compartment next to him. It was full of tropical foliage, and seemed to contain a snake, similar to earth's boa constrictors. But, this one was much, much larger. The green and gold reptile was as wide as a sports car, and a full twenty meters long. It was a Marin snake, a friendlier version of its cousin, the Mara.

"Oh, look at you. You're beautiful!" The Doctor whispered in wonder and admiration.

"You shall have your clothes returned to you, Doctor. All in good time." The man told him.

The snake had turned a pair of intelligent looking reptillian eyes on him, and flicked out its tongue. The Doctor recognized that as the snake's equivilent of a friendly wave. His face abruptly sad, he gave the animal an encouraging smile. Then, he flicked out his own tongue in response, waving back at it.

Absently, the Doctor replied to the man, "Cheers, mate. When's dinner?"

The man shook his head in puzzlement. "Aren't you even going to ask where you are?"

The Doctor feigned boredom. "Oh, riiight. This is the part where I'm supposed to get angry, and start making demands, is it? He sighed for a third time. "OK, I'll humour you. Just this once, though." His voice assuming a monotone quality, he asked, Where am I? Why am I here? I demand you tell me where I am." He shrugged. "Happy now?"

In reality, the Doctor was seething inside. He noticed that there were dozens of Perspex boxes going the length the hall. On both sides, each box contained a different alien creature. Many, he was familiar with. However, others were completely beyond his ken. Within his his sight, the Doctor counted no less than twenty-seven endangered species. There were two more besides, which he'd thought were completely extinct.

"You're in my private collection, Doctor. This hall is filled with many of the universe's rarest and most dangerous species." The man's voice broke into the Doctor's thoughts. "My very own personal museum. Occasionally, I do let others come in here to view my little displays. VIP's only, of course. A-list celebrities, nationally known politicians, fellow millionaires. For a nice fat admission fee. It costs me a fortune to maintain a hundred living species, all in one place, Doctor." The man said proudly.

Getting up and kneeling on the chair, his arms casually flung across its back, the Doctor faced his captor. Raising an eyebrow, he said, "So, what are we talking about, here? You're telling me I'm now an exhibit in your private zoo?" He made a face. "Oy! I'm not going to have to eat any peanuts, am I? I'd hate that. All those shells, lying about. I'd have to spend all my free time hoovering the carpet."

"I suppose you could call it a '_zoo_', Doctor. Although, I find that word rather old fashioned and crude." The man turned and walked away, saying, "I'll have one of the staff here, give you back your attire momentarily. Feeding time is in one hour. No peanuts, if that's what you wish. We'll serve you whatever you prefer. You are now our number one exhibit. We''ll provide you with any meal you desire, within reason."

Smiling with pretended delight, the Doctor answered, "Then I'd like some chips, please. I love chips, me. I had this friend. Rose. She turned me on to them. Gorgeous! Chips, chips, chips, chippity, chip, chips."

"_Chips_?" The man gave a puzzled frown. Then nodded sagely. "Oh, yes! I know what you're referring to, now. Also known as French fries and pom frittes. An ancient earth food. I believe one of the shops in the mega-mall food court, sells them as a novelty item. I suppose I can send one of my staff out to procure some for you."

"Cheers." The Doctor said, his voice resuming its bored tone. Turning away, he sat back down. Giving a jaw cracking yawn, the Doctor jerked his thumb at the television set. "Does this thing get Coronation Street?"

Before exiting through the room's only door, the man turned and faced the Doctor's box again. "Oh, and I wouldn't try to escape, if I were you. The Perspex is pressure sensitive. Lean too long, or too hard, against it, and a particle beam is discharged. I would so hate to lose another specimen, Doctor." He gave an oily smile. "Especially the last of a species."

"Ta-ra!"The Doctor backhanded a wave. "Don't let the door slam you on the way out, old son."

The man choose to ignore him. He inserted a card in a slot by the doorway, and the door slid open. With a final sounded thump, it slid shut behind him. As the door shut, the Doctor's eyes blazed with anger. Biting his lip, he stared broodingly at the ceiling. He had to get out of here…but how?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

As promised, the Doctor's suit was delivered to him after only a few minutes had passed. He turned as he heard the door into the hall slide open. The Doctor raised an eyebrow, as a tall, slinky, blond female in a very brief leopard-print toga walked up to his cage. She was attended by a bored looking guard.

The guard was wearing a black kilt and tunic, over which was and an elaborate brass breastplate. His head bore a matching brass helmet, with a black feathered crest. Across his black tunic, embroidered in red, were inscribed the words, '_Acme Bonded Security_.' Hanging by a strap over his left shoulder was a very lethal looking blaster. From his right side hung an old-fashioned short sword. The two newcomers stood waiting outside the box.

The Doctor decided to ignore them. He Began singing out loud, choosing an old Earth tune by a folk singer named Bob Dylan.

"…_look out kid, no matter what you did, walk on your tip toes, don't try No Doz, better stay away from those, that carry a fire hose, keep a clean nose, watch the plainclothes, you don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows_…" In between verses, the Doctor did his best imitation of a harmonica solo.

The two menials on the outside, began looking at the Doctor, and then at each other, with increasingly perplexed expressions.

"Perhaps you'd better go and get the boss." The guard suggested to the female. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on this...whatever he is."

Not taking her eyes off of the Doctor, she nodded and hurried away. Moments later, the Doctor's captor arrived. Slumped sideways across the chair, the Doctor watched him approach out of the corner of his eye.

The Doctor kept on singing, as if he hadn't a care in the world, "..._Don't wear sandals, try to avoid the scandals, don't wanna' be a bum, you better chew gum, the pump don't work 'cause the vandals took the handles..._"

The man pressed a button, and a hitherto invisible window opened in the front of the cage.

"Honestly Doctor, these theatrics of yours, won't do you a bit of good–other than alarming the help, that is." The 'boss' sneered.

Sitting up abruptly, the Doctor seemed to take notice of their presence for the first time. Widening his eyes in mock surprise, he looked at the tall man.

"Ah. There you are! I need to have a word with you."

So saying, the Doctor up from his chair. He moved to the front of the cage so swiftly, as to make the guard step back a pace, and point his blaster at the glass. The tall man swept the guards' blaster down with his arm, in a dismissive gesture.

"Don't damage the specimens, you idiot!" He looked at the Doctor coolly. "Is there something more you wanted? It's always possible we can accommodate you–provided you cooperate with us completely, of course." He gave an oily smile. "After all, you are one of the top trophies in my collection."

The Doctor made a face, rubbing the side of his nose ruefully with his finger. "Trophy? Trophy? Waal–I've been called a lot of things before, but a trophy? That sounds so…cheap and crass. I'd not want to end up like some mangy moose head, hanging on a wall." The Doctor knew he'd scored a point, by the angry look in the man's eyes. "By the way, do you have a name–or shall I just start calling you, 'hey you,' or 'zookeeper' or 'that guy with the bad haircut'?' leaning in closer he whispered, "Or perhaps there's a reason to keep your name a secret, hmmm–?"

The Doctor noted with satisfaction, that he'd finally seemed to have pushed the man's buttons.

"You don't need to know my name, Time Lord!" The man growled, "All you need to know is that you're never going to leave here…not even in _death_!"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Raising both eyebrows in a look which translated as, 'seriously?', the Doctor was obviously less than impressed by his captor's threat.

"Oooh–now who's being," the Doctor smirked, making quotes in the air with his fingers, "theatrical?" He mocked the man.

The Doctor jammed his hands into his pockets, before realizing that his pyjamas didn't have any. He threw the mauve-coloured jim-jams and annoyed look. Then, began pacing up and down in front of the tall man.

"Thing is, I'm guessing that if you don't want me to know your name, you must have a very good reason for that. What is it, then? Planetary authorities don't know about your little hobby? Bet they wouldn't like that, no siree-bob, I just bet they wouldn't. Shut you down, maybe even toss you into your own little cage…" He gave a chuckle. "Oh, yes. I'm right, aren't I? I love it when I'm right." With a sideways glance, the Doctor noted the frown on his captor's face. He shrugged casually, "Then again, I'm always right. Well, almost always. Well, more times than I'm wrong, anyway. After all, as you say," He stopped and stared down at the man. Suddenly standing tall and proud, the Doctor gave his captor a stern glare, saying in deadly earnest, "I am the last of the Time Lords."

The man gave a casual shrug–a little too casually, the Doctor thought.

Sounding artificially bored, the man said, "Oh very well. I'll humour you, Doctor. You may call me…the Collector."

"The Collector?" The Doctor raised both eyebrows this time. "_The Doctor and the Collector_? Really? They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Personally speaking though, I do find that sort of thing, just a teensy bit bizarre." Making a face, the Doctor gave a dramatic sigh. "Meh, I suppose it's better than calling you, '_hey, you!_' However, I am a rather disappointed in your choice. I was thinking of calling you something a bit more dynamic and exciting. How about, '_Hans__'_?" Pitching his voice an octave lower, he growled out, "_Hans_. _Hannzzzz_. That's a good strong manly man's name."

"Whatever you want, Doctor." The man said, with a casual wave of his hand. As he walked off, he said, "You are now my star attraction. I'm willing to humour you. Some very wealthy off-world tourists are paying me six hundred dinora per person, just to see the last of a species. I stand to make millions off of your exhibit alone, within the next five or six years."

Do you think that I could have my suit, now?" The Doctor sighed, looking down at his jim-jams. "Only, this thing's a bit tacky, for my taste."

The Collector nodded silently to the lavender toga girl. She handed the Doctor his suit, tie, shirt and shoes through the opening in the glass. The Doctor stood there awkwardly, looking at the woman.

"Erm–I don't suppose I could entice you to turn your back?" He asked her, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just that I'm a tad shy, you know,...around..." As the Doctor looked down, he couldn't help catching a glimpse of the woman's ample cleavage, which was showing through her scanty toga. He swallowed uncomfortably, "er—Snodish women."

The very fit blond woman gave him an uncomprehending smile. "As you can see, sir, I had it cleaned and pressed for you. It now looks like new–even better, perhaps."

The Doctor looked at it with a measure of distaste. "I rather liked this just the way it was, thank you" He held it out from him, frowning. "Now I'm going to look like a…a…" He groped for the right word, "...some _human_, paying a mortgage, buying a car, going off to work in an..._office_." He made a face, "Yech!" Glancing at the Dalek next door, he added with a shudder, "My second-worst nightmare."

"A what?" She asked, still giving him an obtuse stare.

"Oh, never mind." The Doctor whinged, "I'll just go and slip behind the sofa then. Back in a tick."

The Doctor walked over to the rear of his cage. Getting down onto his hands and knees on the carpet, he crawled into the space between the small sofa, and the solid back wall of his cage. Muffled noises were heard for several minutes, and a bit of muttering under his breath. It wasn't anything which the woman or the guard could manage to hear properly–and they wouldn't have understood it anyway, as the Doctor was cursing in Old Low Galifreyan. Meanwhile, the Collector had come back into the room. He was waiting behind the guard, looking as smug as ever.

"I am sorry about the rather tasteless décor inside your cage, Doctor." He called out. "Unfortunately, I could find no records of what the interior of your TARDIS looks like. However, being that you seem overly fond of Sol 3, or Earth as the natives call it, we decided to go with the next best thing. Perhaps once you settle in to your new life, you can assist our scenic designers with a more realistic background for you."

Crawling back out from behind the sofa, the Doctor stood and straightened his tie. He purposefully strode up to the Collector.

"That's more like it." He faced the collector, a serious expression on his face. "Now. Tell me how you managed to get hold of the Albermein. The Shadow Proclamation banned that particular tranquilizer, because the only way to make it was from the blood of newborn Quadrillas. Nearly wiped out the entire planet, making that drug. Over forty million babies…"

Pausing, the Doctor abruptly realized that he'd seen something, that hadn't registered until just now. Squinting against the glare of the lights, he stared across the room. There, he saw a glass cage marked '_Quadrilla_'.

In the cage, was a delicate looking creature. Its head and legs were pure white, but the main body was covered with multicoloured dark feathers. The creature had the legs, body and flowing tail of a horse, but the head, neck and wings were that of a swan. It was was only four meters in height, and had a gentle, intelligent looking face. It was sat facing the front of its cage staring into space, it's expression so sad, that it almost made the Doctor cry. The bright plumage indicated a female of the species, and she was obviously in mourning.

The Doctor's face first registered comprehension, then complete repulsion. "You killed her baby, didn't you?" He clenched his fists tightly, his breath heaving with a wild rage he could barely contain. "Butchered it, just so you could capture me?" He suddenly felt queasy inside, that he was the cause of the death of so young and beautiful a creature. "You miserable, rotten ….. to think that a planet as wonderful as Snod, could produce an abhorrence like you!"

His raging outburst didn't seem to have any effect on the Doctor's captor. The Collector merely crossed his arms, and smiled superiorly.

"It was well worth it, Doctor. Look at you. The last Time Lord, the Oncoming Storm himself."

At the mention of that name, the Dalek in the next cell began its dreary "_Exterminate_!" mantra, once again ineffectually banging against the glass, trying to get at the Doctor.


	7. Chapter 7

Both the Doctor and The Collector turned to stare at the Dalek. Together, they yelled, "Oh, shut up!"

Surprisingly, the Dalek did. It backed up and swiveled to face them, lowering its weapon arm. Watching them silently.

Glancing down at his pocket watch, which was hanging from the well-filled money pouch at his waist, the Collector smiled.

"Oh, will you look at the time?" He said, almost genially, "I'm afraid that we'll have to postpone your meal for a bit, Doctor. I've some off-worlder's arriving, to view the displays. Can't keep them waiting."

"You do realize, that you're a couple of wings short of a fried chicken dinner?" The Doctor asked, conversationally. He squinted sideways at his captor, pinching together his right thumb and forefinger. "And, quite possibly, that little tub of coleslaw, as well."

The Collector ignored the Doctor's remarks. Facing the blond, he said curtly, "Go tell the kitchen staff to lay out some refreshments for my guests. Not the expensive stuff, though! No point in wasting it on mere tourists. Oh. I nearly forgot. I want you to inform the licensed harlots that they need to make sure their clients produce the proper vaccination certificates, this time. We don't want health and safety snooping around here again." The Collector instructed her."

"So, you _are_ worried about your own private little tourist attraction, being noticed by the government." The Doctor nodded.

"You underestimate me, Doctor. I must look like a fool to you. But, I'm more powerful than even you can imagine."

"I can see _exactly_ what you are." The Doctor said evenly, his eyes smoldering with barely suppressed anger. "And it's a rather ugly sight. Maybe it's just as well you're delaying my tea time. I wouldn't want to make myself sick, looking at you."

The Doctor finally scored a point. His suddenly icy with a deep-seated rage, the Collector replied menacingly, "I'd be very careful how you speak to me, Doctor. You're going to be here for a very long time. I'm one of Snod's richest and most powerful men. Oh, yes. It is I who holds the reins of local government and law enforcement around these parts. You'd be surprised what a few well-placed favours, and some tax free income can do." The Doctor raised an eyebrow, when the man actually gave a diabolical laugh. "No one but a few rich tourists and my personal staff, will ever know you're here, Doctor." The Collector heaved a sigh, as a self-satisfied smile slowly spread across his thin lips. "Anyway, must dash, Doctor. So much to do, so little time. Of course, once my people have located your TARDIS, I will no longer have that problem, will I?"

Now it was the Collector's turn to score a point. The man's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, when he saw the Doctor abruptly step back, his face revealing his sudden consternation.

The Collector smiled at the Doctor with false benevolence, "However, I think we'll leave that little chat, until tomorrow."

Giving a curt nod to the guard, the open window to the Doctor's cage vanished. The man hurried off to stand importantly in the centre of the room, near the door. At that moment, a musical chime rang out. The blond woman in the leopard print toga departed, and the guard took up his station beside the door, as it slid open to allow those in the queue outside, to enter. The Collector mingled with his guests, as they came through into the main hall. The Doctor sighed deeply, hands in his pockets. At that moment, he felt something in the right hand suit pocket, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Right then," he shouted at the Collector, "See you later…_Han_s."

The Doctor cast a distasteful glance at the Dalek. It had swiveled its eyestalk around, still following the Doctor's every move.

"What are you staring at? If you weren't a Dalek, I'd almost feel sorry for you." He muttered, as he flopped down on the sofa. Giving a tired sigh, the Doctor decided to take a quick kip, for lack of anything better to do. For the moment, anyway. He may be on display, but the Doctor wasn't about to show himself off to a mob of tourists.

Slowly, humanoids and various other aliens passed by his cage, pressing their noses up to the perspex. Boggling and pointing at the Doctor. Each tourist read the plaque installed on the front of the cage, exclaiming excitedly in various languages and chitters. He did his best to ignore them, feeling somewhat like a two-legged version of the Eiffel Tower. A pretty little girl came up to the cage. She was wearing a pink tunic, with blue and yellow flowers embroidered along the sleeves and hemline. Smiling, she gave a friendly wave to the Doctor.

When the Doctor didn't respond, she looked quite sad. The little girl reached up, and tapped lightly on the perspex. She held out some candy floss she was carrying. The Doctor sat up. He never could stand seeing a child be unhappy. He winked and smiled back at her. Only to have the flash from her camera-vone go off in his face. Blinking the effects of the flash from his eyes, the Doctor's hand slipped into his suit pocket. He pulled out a pair of sunglasses and put them on.

"Fan girls!" The Doctor muttered crossly. "Blimey! Can't go anywhere, anymore, without someone taking my photo. I need to regenerate, just to avoid being recognized." He shook his head in disgust. "This'll probably end up on MyVid, with the caption: '_The Doctor Winking_'."

He rolled onto his back, and stretched his long legs out on the sofa, resting his hands behind his head. Within seconds, the Doctor was snoring.

Later that evening, after the lights went out, The Doctor got up and paced the floor of his cage. In the dim red emergency lighting, he stood looking at several small holes in the ceiling.

"Let's see...particle beam displacement guns in the ceiling, triggered by pressure on the glass? I'd say about 120 cubic centimeters of pressure per kilogram, maybe?" He paced back and forth, deep in thought. So lost in thought was he, that he nearly fell over the armchair. His head came up. A wide grin slowly spread across the Doctor's face. He had an idea.

Looking at the ceiling again, then at the chair next to the sofa, he said, "It just might work–and if it doesn't…well, at least I won't have to put up with Han's boring little chit-chat any longer–or those awful chips. Uck!" He made a face, and said to the snake in the next cage, "I'm telling you, if they offer you any chips, take a pass. They're worse then the ones from that American hamburger chain. The one with the clown. Tasteless rubbish. Not the same since they switched to those '_healthy'_ fry oils back in the nineteen-eighties. Bleh! You, on the other hand," He said, turning to the Dalek, "would probably love them."

The Dalek remained silent. Only the bright pinpoint blue glow of its eyestalk shone through its darkened cage, the only sign that it was still alert, still tracking the Doctor's every movement.

"There, that oughta' do it. I hope." The Doctor was standing on the chair, using his sonic screwdriver to make some adjustments to the holes in the ceiling.

Due to some oversight by one of the Collector's staff, no one had thought to empty the Doctor's pockets, before they gave his suit back to him. He jumped down off the chair. Moving quickly to the back of his cage, the Doctor held up the sonic screwdriver. Pressing down on the switch, the tip glowed blue and buzzed softly, as he kept it pointed at the holes.

The Doctor struck a pose like an Olympic runner, just before the starter's pistol went off. He tensed his body. The sonic screwdriver was clamped in his upraised fist, like a miniature torch. It's buzzing sounded like a swarm of wasps, in the closed confines of the cage. All of the sudden, he sprang up. With both hands braced forward, the Doctor ran at the chair, and pushed it with all his might. With a resounding thump, it crashed against the perspex. At the same time, the Doctor jumped backwards, still pointing the sonic at the ceiling.

Immediately, narrow beams of light shot out from the ceiling, which were then deflected back, by the beam from the sonic screwdriver. With a shower of sparks and white smoke, particle beams short-circuited. Ducking the sparks, the Doctor swiftly re-adjusted the setting, and pointed the screwdriver at the glass. The sonic gave off a high pitched whine, which caused some of the creatures in the other exhibits to moan, whine, gurgle and roar.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to escape." The Doctor hissed, putting a finger to his lips, "Shhhhh―!" The exhibit hall immediately became silent again. "Thank you!" He whispered.

Just at that moment, the front of the cage shattered, sending a cascade of shiny perspex tinkling to the ground. He stepped through, grinning with delight. Just at that moment, the overhead lights snapped on. The Doctor's face fell.

"Oh. Riiight."

Squinting at the sudden glare, the Doctor found himself faced by five very cross looking security guards. They all had blasters leveled at him. The Doctor's arms automatically shot up in the air.

"Well, you can't blame a Time Lord for trying." He said, looking slightly abashed.

The Collector strode through the door, clapping his hands.

"Oh, delicious! Splendid! That's very, very good. Four marks to you, Doctor. I had a bet with my investors, that you would try to escape tonight. I've just won a pile of dinora, thanks to your efforts! Of course, I did give myself an edge. Always do. Can't resist, I'm afraid. You didn't _really_ think we'd accidentally forgot about that sonic device in your pocket, did you? Though I must say, I thought that trick with the chair was quite clever."

"Erm–thanks. I think. Now what?" The Doctor said nonchalantly. "You want me to do some magic tricks? Juggle a ball on my nose? A spot of pole dancing?"

"No, Doctor." The Collector sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. "That display you just ruined, cost me twenty-five thousand dinora. There's only one thing I can do."

The Doctor wasn't sure he liked the sound of this. "What's that?" He asked suspiciously.

"Why, stuff and mount you, of course! Won't have the same attraction as a live display, mind you. However, in the end, it will be much more cost effective." The Collector said, in a detached, businesslike fashion.

His eyes stared at the man with an incredulous expression. The Doctor had been threatened with a lot of things in his nine hundred years. Yet, he had to admit to himself, this was definitely a first.

"Stuff and mount me?" The Doctor exclaimed, his indignant voice almost rising to a squeak. "You're joking! You mean, what Roy Rogers did to his horse, Trigger? You're going to pose me like some life-sized action figure?"

The Collector gave a shrug of disappointment. "I know. It's such a shame. A Time Lord is worth so much more as a live specimen. Unfortunately, you're just too expensive to keep around. That was the strongest Finito perspex in the known universe. Yet you shattered it, like it was terracotta. No, no, no. Mustn't have that. You'll just have to go." He gave a curt nod at the guards and they aimed their guns at the Doctor. "And if you regenerate, I'll simply instruct the guards to keep firing, until you've used up all of your regenerations."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Taking a deep breath and bracing himself, the Doctor tried to put a brave face on it. He stubbornly held on to the hope that something would...Suddenly, with a flash and a loud bang, the door to the exhibit hall exploded inward.

The Doctor's eyebrows shot upwards, as a crack squad of the Royal Snod's Guards came pouring into the hall. They immediately leveled their blasters and broadswords at the security guards. The Doctor had the presence of mind to dive out of the way, while the Collector's guards were distracted.

A stately, dignified looking, lavender and silver haired man strode up to the Collector. The newcomer was dressed like the soldiers. He had on a dark green tunic, and black and green tartan kilt. Only, this man wore a highly polished silver breast plate, and a green feathered silver helmet.

The man's only weapon, was a finely made old-fashioned rapier. This was slung across his shoulder, by a black leather and silver filigree baldric. The man's demeanor was such, that one could sense he didn't need any more weaponry than that. He looked at the Doctor's captor with evident distaste. The Collector's face turned pale.

"Senator-General Redel!" The Collector gasped. "How...how...did you?"

The general faced him. "We in the Snodish Royal Senate have been wondering what you've been hiding down here, in the basement of the capital–our very capital!" He spat out, his face contorting with rage. "You have disgraced us all, Myron!"

"_Myron_?" The Doctor whispered to himself. He stared at the Collector, askance. Then, turned to the Dalek and shrugged. The Dalek had nothing to say.

Half the squad of soldiers marched the security guards away. The other half lowered their weapons and stood ranged in neat order behind the Senator-General. Still, they kept a stern watch on the Collector.

"It seems you weren't content with merely collecting stamps, and those ridiculous _Galaxy Battles_ trading cards, brother. Your therapist warned us about your little obsessions. But, I had no idea..." The Senator-General shook his head in disappointment. "I'll always love you, Myron. I want you to know that. However, right now, I'm afraid that I don't like you very much." The Collector—Myron, cringed at those words, but said nothing. "You've not only brought shame to your family, you have shamed all of Snod, with your irresponsible, selfish behaviour."

"I...I...was only trying to protect endangered species." Myron whinged. "Wasn't I, Doctor?" He cast pleading eyes on the Doctor's face.

The Doctor, however, remained unmoved. He couldn't get the picture of that grieving Quadrilla out of his head. His only acknowledgement to the collector's plea, was a grim stare. Then, he turned his head away, in disgust.

"I cannot apologize to you enough, Doctor." Senator-General Redel said, saluting the Doctor, by crashing his fist against his breastplate. The remaining soldiers copied their leader, and the hall echoed with crashing fists. The noise disturbed some of the occupants of the cages, causing a few of them to hiss and squeak and roar.

The Doctor winced, "Oh, no salutes." He complained.

"Oh. Sorry." Redel said, taken aback slightly by the Doctor's attitude. He cleared his throat. "Still, on behalf of the Snodish Senate, please accept our heartfelt relief that you are safe. We Snodlanders have heard of you. If the legends are even half true, I believe that you are a good man. You did not deserve this sort of treatment. No one does. And, rest assured, it shall never be allowed to happen again."

"What are you going to do to me?" Myron asked his brother, in a small, frightened voice.

"Since you had a number of policemen, senators and judges in your pay, a certain faction of us in the military had decided that covert action was needed. You have been tried by a secret military tribunal, and found guilty."

"You...you can't do that! It's illegal!" Myron spluttered.

"We can, and we did. By special royal act of Her Majesty, Queen Julia I, we were given the powers to try and punish you, in secret."

"What are you going to do?" Myron asked in a hoarse whisper. His whole body was quaking.

"Your income has been stripped. It has already been distributed to Snoddish Social Services and various other charities." Redel looked down at his military sandals. "I'm sorry to give you this news. I know how much power and wealth means to you. Unfortunately, as of right now, you are destitute, Myron." His brother informed him sadly. "It was only thanks to my intervention, you've escaped being executed. Also, life imprisonment in a storm cage. Those were the original options offered by the tribunal. However, it was my idea that you deserve an even worse punishment. I have ordered that you will spend the rest of your days, living on state benefits, with a below poverty-level income. You will be confined to a one-bedroom flat in a state-owned housing estate. You will be forced—though I hope that won't be necessary, to work off your crimes by doing community service for the poor."

"No! Not that! You can't!" A shocked Myron screamed.

Without any indication he was about to do so, Myron pulled what looked like an old earth TV remote from his pocket. He pressed down on a red button. Automatically, a door slid open on the Dalek's cage. The Dalek put its hovering mode into gear, and floated through the open door to the cage.

The soldiers automatically began firing on the Dalek, to no effect. Omniously, it silently settled to the floor, swiveling it's eyestalk to face the Doctor. Unable to help himself, the Doctor stood rooted to the spot. His breath heaved with naked fear, as he came face to face with one of his worst nightmares. The general ordered the soldiers to cease firing, in fear they'd hit the Doctor or Myron. Everyone stood stock still, afraid to move, lest they provide a ready target for the Dalek.

Myron let loose with a high-pitched, mad laugh. "Let me introduce you to my secret weapon. My own personal Dalek. Programmed to obey my every order. Now, you'll all die, and Her Majesty will be next!"

Unfortunately, Myron had got it wrong. For, as he spoke, the Dalek has swiveled around to face him. It regarded its captor, its eyestalk waving up and down, as if it were examining a particularly interesting specimen. Then, a green energy beam shot out from its weapon arm. Myron screamed in agony, as he was enveloped in the beam's glow, his skeleton outlined by the blast.

As Myron's dead body slumped to the floor, the Dalek again swiveled around, and began firing at the soldiers. Their dying screams echoed off the high vaulted ceilings of the exhibit hall.

The Doctor didn't hesitate, while the Dalek was busy killing the soldiers, the Doctor snatched up the general's rapier.

"Dalek! Face me, the Oncoming Storm." He shouted.

As his deadliest foe turned to face him, the Doctor stepped in to one side. He moved in graceful fashion, like a dancer. So swiftly, that even a creature as powerful as the Dalek, couldn't bring his weapon arm to bear, in time. Grimly, careful precision, the Doctor quickly jabbed the tip of the sword into the slots of the Dalek's headpiece. It penetrated far enough to skewer the living, mutated creature inside.

The Dalek's headpiece exploded. At that moment, the blast sent a charge of electrical energy up the metal sword, and into the Doctor's body. Giving a short cry of pain, he was flung backwards to the ground. The general and remaining soldiers clustered around the body, unsure whether he was dead or alive.

The next afternoon, found Senator-General Redell sitting outside Stellarstag's coffee shop, overlooking the seaside. He was accompanied by his wife and family, and several other distingquished friends. They were all wearing their best togas and tunics, and noshing on delicate pastries. Redell had changed from his military uniform, into a crisp white toga with a dark green border. He and the rest of the adults in the group, were discussing what should be done with the creatures imprisoned in Myron's collection.

"Well, for now, I will personally oversee the care of the creatures, of course." The Senator-General told his guests. "We'll have to return them to their homes, providing it's safe to do so. If not, I'll use every effort to make them as comfortable as possible here, on Snod.

"I think I can help with that." The Doctor said, after taking a sip of his hazelnut-mocha decaf. "I can use my TARDIS to transport the creatures and animals back home. I think I can also advise you, in regard to those which aren't able to go home."

"Thank you, Doctor. We'll appreciate any assistance you can give us." Senator-General Redell nodded, with a pleased smile.

"There's something I've been wondering about, though." The Doctor said.

"Oh? What's that, Doctor?" Redell asked.

"How did you know I had been kidnapped?"

"It was me! It was me!" A little girl's voice exclaimed from behind him.

The Doctor turned around. It was the little girl who'd offered him her candy floss.

"Oh. Hello!" He smiled broadly at her.

"My granddaughter snuck into the exhibit hall. Snapped your photo, posted on MyVid. Her mum saw it. She happens to be a big fan of yours..."

"Father! I wouldn't say that!" His daughter interrupted. "He was a customer in my shop, I rather took a liking to." The large, jovial woman was wearing a bright orange and red tie-dyed toga. Her lavender hair was done up with ruby beads, and her eyes twinkled with delight, as she said, "You are the nicest gentleman to ever shop with me, Doctor." She beamed. It was the woman who'd sold him the trinket box for Martha. "And, I believe these are yours." The woman from the shop handed the Doctor a giftwrapped box and his credit disc. "Of course, I've heard of the Doctor. Everyone here, has. But I never expected to meet you in person. It's been an honour, sir."

"Erm-you're not going to salute, are you?" He asked tentitively.

"Heaven's no! But...I wonder if you would mind posing for a photo with me and my daughter?" She asked shyly.

"For you, it would be my pleasure." The Doctor grinned at her. Then paused, and added, "As long as you don't post it on MyVid."

THE END


End file.
